A/N: Just a small note; at the very end of this chapter, the scissors being referred to are from my one-shot OBSERVATIONS which takes place between these two. You don't have to have read it to understand this, and it has absolutely nothing to do with this storyline, I'm just a whore for fun little references! Enjoy.
Regina motions for Emma to follow her into the drawing room to the left of the hallway; scowling at the hopeful glance the blonde throws towards the landing above them.
"Henry is busy doing homework, as I have already told you, and he will remain upstairs doing homework, as I have just requested of him."
She scolds sternly. Emma opens her mouth to protest, but the Mayor is already waving her hand dismissively and making her way across the threshold.
"Come now, Sheriff, you're letting out all the warmth."
Accepting defeat, Emma pads lightly on her bare feet into the drawing room and studies the hearth curiously. An open fire is working its way up to roaring, and as she continues to focus her attention on the yellow lick of the flames, Regina stokes the burning logs with an iron poker she rests back against the wall when she's done.
"How did you-...?"
"Well, while you were busy mucking around outside, I decided to make use of the time."
"You drove off without me!"
"Quite."
Regina smirks at her less-than-welcome guest, but she extends an arm nonetheless. Green eyes drop down to exposed flesh in confusion; unsure whether the Mayor is implying she wishes to shake hands, or is merely showcasing the perfection of her forearm. Receiving a pointed nod towards the dripping parka she still wears, Emma comes to the belated realisation that the brunette is in fact attempting to take her coat. She works cold fingers numbly at the zipper; tugging aggressively until it yields to her submission and handing the drenched garment to Regina who thins her lips in distaste and disposes of it on the hook on the back of the door before primly laying out newspaper on the floor beneath.
Now clad in just her sodden jeans and soaked-through sweater, Emma resists the urge to curl up childishly on the sofa in an attempt to warm her exposed feet beneath her. Instead, she perches as close to the fire as she can and extends her legs out towards the welcome heat; crossing pale ankles neatly. Regina steps over this sudden obstacle - sighing theatrically as she does - and bends over the mahogany drinks cabinet in the corner.
"Cider, Miss Swan?"
The blonde eyes the amber liquid warily, and the Mayor smirks at the memory of the Sheriff's glower when discovered behind bars.
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten about that. Well, dear, I wouldn't worry about waking up incarcerated, as you yourself are what we have to accept as the law in this town these days, and I don't believe you will be driving anywhere in the all too near future."
"Well... Just a little glass."
Emma concedes.
"Good girl."
Regina nods, pouring fine crystal to full capacity in spite of her companion's request, and bringing over without spilling a drop. She leans forward to place the glass on the coffee table, and Emma raises a brow when she lays out a napkin before setting down the glass. Pouring herself a similarly large drink, Regina brings it over along with the carafe containing the rest and settles on the opposite couch while taking a delicate sip; running her tongue appreciatively over scarlet lipstick.
A silence that is more awkward than it is tense falls between them, as Emma watches the growing flames and Regina takes in the dampness of the blonde's jeans on her furniture irritably. Her eyes flicker to the ruined parka in the corner, and she only hopes the irksome woman's backside and thighs are relatively dry.
In spite of her annoyance, she finds that the way the fire causes the younger woman's hair to glow golden is actually quite pleasant, especially when coupled with the way the soft light plays over her face. Feeling her cheeks grow warm with the realisation that she bathes the Sheriff with such uncharacteristically appreciative thoughts, Regina swiftly grasps for a negative.
As always, with Emma, she doesn't need to look very far.
"Dear God, is that your perfume?"
She gives a distasteful sniff and is met with a stony glower.
"I'm not wearing any perfume."
"Then that may be the problem."
The brunette sighs, and Emma rolls her eyes and plucks at her sweater
"It's wool. It's wet. Wet wool stinks of wet dog. I can't help that."
In spite of her words, she crosses her arms over her stomach and pulls the sweater up over her head; throwing it in the direction of her parka to land in a sodden heap on the floor. Regina's lip quirks with annoyance, but the aforementioned smell dissipates instantly, and now only the faint scent of rain remains. The skin of the blonde's arms and chest dapples with gooseflesh at this sudden exposure, but the heat from the fire is strong, and she's much more comfortable in the thin scrap of the tank top she now wears, without the damp chill of her outer garments.
"Oh, but of course. Please, make yourself at home, Miss Swan."
The Mayor's tone drips with sarcasm, but her attention lingers on the Sheriff's pale shoulders momentarily before fixing her with a cold stare. Emma shrugs - collarbones rippling - and reaches for her glass.
"Thanks."
It's unclear whether this is a goading response to her sarcasm, or a well-hidden but genuine sentiment of gratitude regarding the situation, so Regina decides to ignore it. They drink in silence a while longer, but the cider is good and blesses the atmosphere with an odd form of comfort. Emma licks her lips appreciatively free of sticky sweetness and grins in amusement as Regina unintentionally mimics her. The Mayor doesn't return her smile, but nor does she glare at her, which Emma decides is probably a positive thing.
"So, what was the 'business' you had to attend to that was so important you had to venture out into the storm, even if it meant, uh, 'flirting with death'?"
The Sheriff asks, and Regina raises an eyebrow but dodges the question easily.
"You're lucky I did venture out! Where exactly were you headed when I came across you?"
"I figured if I made my way to the garage that even if a mechanic didn't feel like braving the weather, I could at least borrow a tow truck or wait out the storm. I was going to cut through the woods at the turning just ahead of where we met."
The Mayor blanches slightly at this - her expression momentarily horrified - before swiftly composing herself and throwing Emma a look of disdain.
"What an excellent idea, Sheriff. The garage is only a good three miles trek through the forest, and you have absolutely no idea where you're going. We would have been sending you back to Boston in a body bag! If, that is, we were able to find you at all!"
Emma scowls at Regina's low expectations of her orienteering skills - however accurate they may be - before breaking into a grin and cocking her head to regard the brunette with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were just worried about me..."
"Just the lack of sanity that would lead you to trek through rough terrain in this 'whore of a storm', dear."
"Bitch of a storm."
"My apologies, you have an impressive mouth on you, it's hard to keep up."
"So I've been told..."
Emma offers her host a salacious wink, causing the latter to choke on her cider. Regina sniffs, cheeks rouging slightly.
"I'd rather you spare me the details of your most recent alleyway encounter if it's all the same to you."
She snaps, and the blonde rolls her eyes dramatically as a shiver travels through her body. She rubs her arms fiercely, and the Mayor realises that the Sheriff's lips are tinged almost the same shade of blue as the bra visible through her top.
"You're shaking."
"No, I'm not."
Emma replies indignantly, but she can't help herself as another shiver racks through her violently. Regina sighs and gets up to walk behind her, and the blonde tenses immediately - unsure what the darker woman plans to do - but manages to suppress her urge to jump when a heavy piece of fabric is draped over her shoulders. She pulls the proffered quilt tightly around herself and mutters her thanks to Regina who resumes her seat on the sofa.
"You are perhaps one of the stubbornest people I have ever met, Sheriff."
She says it as though simply musing, rather than derogatively; merely casting Emma a pensive glance.
"Well, we wouldn't have nearly as much fun if I wasn't."
The blonde grins and the Mayor barks loudly with laughter before she can help herself. Glaring at the Sheriff accusingly, the corners of her mouth twitch traitorously with mirth.
"I'm not sure fun is something I associate you with, dear, but you do offer a pitiful source of amusement at times, I will admit."
Emma simply smiles and shrugs her shoulders, reaching for her cider, before giving in to temptation and curling up so that her entire body is engulfed under the blanket save for her hands and face. Regina imagines they must look like a very peculiar couple indeed as she smooths out the beginnings of a crease in her dress pants. Squaring her shoulders in their tailored shirt, she fluffs her dark waves so that they bounce just short of her jacket. Emma watches her do so from her huddled ball on the sofa - damp curls escaping in every direction - and decides to locate her brush when she gets home.
Not that she's jealous, of course.
"Like what you see, dear?"
Regina smirks knowingly, and the younger woman blinks and averts her gaze. She gives the glass in her hand a wary glance and lowers it from her lips distrustfully.
"I like your hair."
She replies, before adopting a grimace.
Oh for the love of-... Get a grip, Swan! 'I like your hair'?! what the fuck was that?! What are you, five?!
She gives herself a firm mental slap, but Regina merely nods as though she'd expect nothing less.
"Thank you, it's called conditioner."
"Your wit astounds me. I'll make sure the next time I'm on duty in a fucking storm I pack a bottle of Herbal Essence."
The Sheriff mutters sarcastically, causing the Mayor to chuckle. Regina gets up and repositions herself so that she sits next to the - now visibly wary - blonde, and runs her fingers through messy curls in a business-like manner.
"You know, it's not actually that bad. It just needs a brush, and it desperately needs a trim."
Emma eyes the golden scissors on the desk in the corner nervously.
"If you plan on coming anywhere near me with those scissors again, I'm going to need a lot more cider!"
"Well, that can easily be arranged, Sheriff..."